


Identity

by MariaMagica



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dissociation, Drug Withdrawal, Family, Gen, Identity Issues, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Recovery, Self-Hatred, Sickness, finding yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 10:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13656735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaMagica/pseuds/MariaMagica
Summary: Without the light of the sun, he struggles to find himself in the shadows.





	Identity

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request for a drug-recovering Saeran.

This isn’t me, he thinks. The nausea in the pit of his stomach feels dull, just like the soft cotton of bedsheets underneath his fingertips. His heart is racing, his breathing is shallow, and nothing is happening. He can’t calm down, can’t focus. He commands his arm to move and it does, but slowly, too slowly; he’s starting to question who is truly the one in his body, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

The light on the ceiling is harsh, brighter than white, he can feel his eyes drying up. The rays form a pattern, trickling out of the lampshade onto the concrete in waves. They dance around, twirl and spin in circles, they spin and spin faster and faster and suddenly the nausea returns in full force, punching him in his stomach. His breathing quickens, it is loud and ragged, he is aware of the dampness on his back. His whole shirt feels wet and a bead of sweat trails down from his neck into his collar.

The bed is wobbling, it’s trying to throw him off and he holds on to the sheets so tightly his hands hurts. He wants to get up, but if he moves, he wants to vomit. He wants it to stop.

The light is still spinning. He can’t look away, can’t close his eyes.

He can’t make it stop.

He yells for help but all he hears is a pathetic whine. He doesn’t understand what he has done to hurt so much. He is trapped with no lock or bar in sight. He feels the need to beg for forgiveness to captors he cannot see, cannot imagine.

He dreams of the door opening. A blur of colors, topped by vivid red, walking in, calling a name, a name he recognizes, but doesn’t recognize it to be his. Who are you calling, he wants to ask. But just as he is trapped, so too is the sound in his throat.

Persistently, the question lingers on his mind, before the dance of lights grow tired of him and lure him into darkness.

***

He is Unknown. He is a glitch in the code, an error in the system, an anomaly in the program. He is unwanted, he is not supposed to exist. He is nothing unless he makes himself something, he won’t be noticed unless they find him. And even when they find him, even if he is significant, he will stay unwanted. And that suits him just fine.

***

He startles awake from the sudden warmth on his head but doesn’t want to open his eyes. The world is still turning too fast, but the gentle hand brushing the messy strands of pale hair away from his forehead grounds him a little. Somehow, he’s lying on his side. His shirt doesn’t feel damp anymore, and there’s a thick blanket over him. But no matter how much he tugs it up to cover his shoulders, or wraps it around his feet, he’s freezing. Every hair on his body is rigid, trying desperately to help him. A violent shiver causes the warm hand to caress his head again and he leans into it.

“S-Saeyoung…” he whimpers.

“I’m here,” his brother reassures him, and it sounds like him, sad and comforting.  He’s scared it’s a lie. Reality never gave him what he truly wanted, never let him have relief from the harsh truth. Even when he feels pain from all the frowning he’s doing, he refuses to open his eyes.

Every muscle in his body aches but he can’t relax. His stomach is painfully empty, but he prefers it over the nausea. For a brief moment he wants to go back, back to whatever his life was before this pain, he can’t remember, but it has to be better than this. Maybe his actual self is still there, and whoever this is supposed to be, pathetic and pointless like the butterfly that died in its cocoon, is but a glimpse of a life he’s not supposed to be in.

The bed shifts and there’s another body on it. He feels a warm arm wrap around him, pulling his blanket-wrapped body close. He feels warmer already.

“You’re doing great,” his brother says, voice reverberating through every part of his broken body. “I’m proud of you, little bro.”

He laughs endlessly into the void of his mind. He doesn’t know why he’s laughing. He feels angry. Betrayed. The arm holds him a little tighter and suddenly he feels sad. Needy. Hurt.

He allows himself to cuddle closer.

***

He is Ray. He’s a messenger of the sun, travelling to Earth to spread her warmth, her love, her happiness. Without her, he is nothing, no one would know who he is. He lives to serve, he can only serve, and he wants to, it gives him purpose and meaning. He is happy to be Ray, he wants to stay like this. Only as Ray will he be loved.

***

He gasps when he feels sharp pain in his gut. The sting doesn’t subside and he curls into a ball, both hands cradling the agonizing area in his lower stomach. He calls out for help and is shocked to hear himself louder than expected.

“Ssshh, it’s okay, we’re still here,” a smooth voice above him says, coming closer. He opens his eyes, and the lights don’t hurt him as much when there’s someone towering over him, blocking the rays with her body.

The sting finally breaks into a dull throb, and he can lift his head and reach out his hand, whether it’s to seek comfort or to get away from the bed he’s been lying in for days – he’s not sure. Dizziness hit him in full force and he can’t remember the last time he ate something solid. The thought of food makes him feel ill again.

She gets on the bed and takes his wobbly hand in hers, letting his head rest on her lap. It feels strange, her soothing touch, and he wonders when the pain comes again.

“Do you want me to call the nurse?” she asks as she runs her fingers through his hair.

No, he thinks, she isn’t like that. His brother never meant to hurt him. She would never hurt him. Despite him not believing it completely, his tense body finds relief in that thought, allowing him to breathe better.

“…No,” he replies, a little hoarse. “I want to stay like this a little longer.”

It’s too needy to say that, he thinks, and anticipates her leaving him because of it now. But she stays, and he wonders why.

***

He can’t be Saeran. He can’t, he can’t, _he can’t._

***

The pressure makes his head throb but sitting upright with his back against the cool headrest gives him relief. A delicious scent wafts through the wooden door of his bedroom and his stomach growls.

The door opens and reveals his brother, his smile becoming as vibrant as his hair color when he walks in. No doubt because the one in bed covered himself up to the chin with a blanket despite the warmth.

“Saeran, how are you feeling?”

“…Hungry,” he honestly replies, more vulnerable than he should be.

Saeyoung’s smile breaks into a grin, he looks ridiculous. “Good! I’ll get you some of my delicious chicken soup. It heals the soul!” Saeyoung says and winks.

He would groan but bending his neck ever so slightly hurt too much. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Okay, Vanderwood made it, but it was my idea, so I should get all credit. I’ll be right back!” his brother sings and practically hops out of his room, not letting anyone argue against his flawed logic.

He wiggles and settles himself in a bit more in the small blanket cave he made, willing the ache to leave him once and for all. It is only a few minutes later he realizes, just before Saeyoung returns, that his hunger means he’s truly recovering.

***

He is the little boy in the basement, waiting until his mom will release him.

He is the teenager in the church garden, wondering how long he can stay.

~~He is a prisoner in an underground building, waiting for his next drink.~~

~~He is a servant of the savior, planning when he can approach her.~~

~~He is the twin who can’t wait to see his brother destroyed.~~

He is the young man in the wheelchair, listening to the strange doctor explaining to his brother and her what’s going to happen to him. The doctor is confident he’ll be fine, she and his brother agree, and for the first time ever he thinks that, maybe, he’ll be okay.

***

It’s good soup, he thinks, putting the spoon down in the now empty bowl. He wants to put the bowl away, but with the way she and Saeyoung were leaning against him on the couch, he decides to leave it in his lap.

The television guide tells him it’s 1 AM. He’s not sleepy at all, having slept for days, nearly weeks on end. He still gets random hot and cold flashes, but he can tolerate them better with food in his stomach and company around. It also helps that he’s out of that bed, even if he still has trouble staying upright for a few hours. Saeyoung snores softly against his right arm and she is drooling on his left, but he likes it. He genuinely does.

In the dark, with his true family squishing him from both sides and the television program droning on about something scientific, he feels like he can finally accept it.

He is Saeran. He is home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. <3


End file.
